The Guardian
by Dreams2Paper11
Summary: AU: Ian unexpectedly dies a bit earlier than schedule, taking Jack with him, and Alex finds himself living in an orphanage at the tender age of seven. Of course, until a man with a dancer's body and icy blue eyes comes along and adopts him, and consequently alters Alex's life forever after. No slash. Currently a blooming two-shot, but may be expanded upon.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Written due to the depressing lack of Alex and Yassen familial relationships, and because I have a fetish for desensitized!Alex. Enjoy.**

******This is currently a sort of hopeful oneshot. If I get positive feedback, I'll continue it. Maybe. Review and we'll find out. **

**.**

**.**

Alex is seven years old when the doorbell rings in the middle of a lazy fall day.

Ian and Jack are out shopping. Normal guardians would have taken their child with them to the store, but the grocery was only five minutes away and Alex had obediently reiterated all the standard promises ("No I won't open the door unless it's you, no I won't answer the phone, etc…") to the redhead American. Jack had dropped a kiss on his soft blonde locks. Ian had slapped him on the back, grinning, and sauntered after her, coat thrown casually over his shoulder. It's Ian's day off from work, and he and Jack simply need to pick up some food items for the week before coming home. Ian had promised to play a game with him when he got back.

Alex is alone, doing his math homework at the dining room table. He _wants _to be outside playing soccer in his backyard, but Ian cleverly took Alex's ball when he left with Jack and locked it in his car.

Slowly swinging his feet, thumping the sock-covered heels against the legs of the chair, and chin rested on slouched forearms, he jumps in his seat when the doorbell rings out once, short and clear. He pads to the front door somewhat slowly, experiencing a prickle of confusion because Jack is a fast shopper but not _that _fast, and Ian has a distinct knock—two short raps with his knuckles. He never rings the doorbell. Says it's impersonal. Alex never questions it—Ian has his weird quirks and Alex has learned to live with them.

There is light flashing underneath the crack of the door, red to blue, red to blue. Alex's heart sinks, because some instinct slithers up his spine and raises the goosebumps on his arms. Something is terribly wrong.

The bell rings again, accompanied this time by forceful knocking. Most certainly not Ian.

Alex slides a cushioned stool over to the door so that he can properly see through the peephole, and finds himself looking at the distorted figures of two policemen, wearing unusually sad, tired faces. Alex's heart jumps into his throat. He hasn't done anything bad. That he knows of, anyway. He hadn't meant to hit that boy in gym class so hard yesterday with the basketball, really. It wasn't his fault if the other child had been a big baby and cried for twenty minutes afterwards.

He unlocks the deadbolt and flips the door's lock, because they are the police and you're always supposed to listen to the policemen. Especially if they're knocking on your door.

When he swings it open, their faces blanch even further. The taller, thinner one on the left blinks rapidly.

"Hello?" Alex questions, one small hand gripping the doorway, the other clenched in a fist at his side. The distinct feeling of wrongness is surging within him, and the urge to back away and hide in a corner grows steadily with every passing second. His sharp, intelligent brown eyes look past the two men and to the parked police car, with the lights still flashing silently. He always wanted to see what the inside of a police car looked like. He'd told Ian once when he was just-turned-six that he wanted to be a policeman when he grew up.

Ian had gained a strange look in his eye, ruffled his hair, and asked him the next day if he wanted to start martial arts lessons.

"Alex? Alex Rider?" The one on the right says, kneeling down to speak with him at eye level. Alex's eyebrows meet together in a 'v' at that. He hates being treated like a little kid, even if he is one. He's not stupid. He's two classes above the average math course for his year.

"Yeah?" He affirms, and his nails bite into his palms. His heart is pounding. Something is terribly wrong.

The man breathes in, breathes out. A mask of calmness falls over his pitying features—pity? Why pity?—and he gestures to the car behind him.

"Alex, we need you to ride down to the station with us. There's been an accident."

**.**

**.**

Alex never goes into shock when he learns that there was a car crash because of a malfunctioning traffic circle light. He doesn't even feel surprised when he learns that Ian and Jack passed away—_died_, he tells himself firmly, to make sure he understands because he does not want hope springing up where it has no business being—because sometime during the ride to the police station, he thinks hehad already realized what it was about.

But he accepts the apple juice and the thick, heavy blanket-the one for people in shock, Alex knows, but honestly, he isn't!-that they give him anyway, and nibbles on the warm, buttery chocolate chip cookie handed to him by a crying policewoman. Why was she crying? He should be the one crying, not her.

Alex doesn't feel surprised—tells himself that he expected it—but the news, delivered gently and consolingly by a middle-aged man developing a potbelly, still hits him out of the blue. A brutal sucker punch that Alex saw coming but was too slow to avoid. It snatches the breath from his chest and makes him go very still as he tries to think, but he still feels and functions properly and nothing is dramatically numb like portrayed in the tragedy movies that Jack loves so much.

_Gone, _he thinks to himself. _Just like that. I'll never see them again._

He doesn't go into shock, but that doesn't stop him from crying a bit.

**.**

**Six months later**

**.**

Alex hates the orphanage with a burning passion.

He hates the standard pleasant blue color of his room, he hates the creaky floors and smiling caretakers. He hates the come-and-go sessions of potential foster parents dropping by and leaving, hates the nutritious meals served for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, because they can't ever hope to match Jack's cooking.

But most of all, he hates the fellow children.

He hates the sad, broken looks in the eyes of the 'recents' or, in other words, those who were old enough to distinctly remember what exactly made them orphans. He hates the way they drag their feet, shoulders slumped and neck bowed in defeat. He hates the muffled crying that he can hear through the thin walls in the dead of night, the gut-wrenching sobs that keep him wide awake and sleepless.

It's… it's so… _pathetic._

Why are they wasting their energy like that? Why don't they go out and _do_ something productive, like find out who caused their guardians' deaths, find out the how's and the why's, and then do something about it? Their helplessness stirs a kind of disgust in his stomach that cramps his belly with its intensity. Ian would be ashamed if Alex ever behaved like that.

For his part, he throws himself into research of traffic lights, as silly as it sounds, because there is no way a simple malfunctioning traffic light could have killed Invincible Ian and Genial Jack. (Jack herself came up with those nicknames one movie night. Alex's was Adorable Alex, which disgruntled him at the time.)

It's easy to get wrapped up in, because working on that research is a good distraction from what Alex's hurting heart cries out. He prints and staples pages upon pages of the mechanics of a traffic light, of their positions over roads, and even watches recorded footage of accidents caused by ones that hadn't worked properly.

(Sometimes it's hard to keep his thoughts clinical and professional when watching those CCTV recordings, and it's hard not to imagine Jack and Ian in those cars that buckle and fold and shatter so very easily.)

Ian was such a careful driver, and Alex knows that traffic at that light is always pretty slow, anyway. Ian used to drive him down that road all the time when taking him to school.

Sometimes when he is half asleep, Alex daydreams about Ian skillfully maneuvering their car out of the path of the speeding truck, doing one of those cool spins that leave skid marks on the pavement. He would punch out the windows (no matter how unnecessary the action because they were _unhurt _after all) and help Jack to safety, and then beat up the drunk driver that had almost killed them, and then come home and play ball with Alex all day long while Jack cooked Alex's favorite meal.

These fanciful daydreams always evaporate with the harsh rap of the oldest occupants of the orphanage waking everyone up in time to eat breakfast and catch the bus to school.

**.**

**Alex: 9 years old**

**.**

Alex waits in the greeting room, his impatience glossed by a veneer of outward calm. It's a mask that he has sculpted and shaped to perfection, when he doesn't want the caretakers knowing that he's lying, when he walks past a hysterical recent being brought in.

Alex clasps his pale hands in his laps, shifting on the molded plastic orange seat, and waits.

The door opens. Miss Jenny, the chief overseer of Breckon's Orphanage, tap-taps into the room in her black stilettos, the clipboard with all of Alex's information printed in neat black lines held in the crook of an arm. She smiles brightly at Alex, gives him a hello, and settles in her seat behind the big mahogany desk.

A man walks in after her. Alex immediately knows that 'walks' is the wrong word. It doesn't fully describe the eerie sleekness that drapes each movement, the grace that lightens his steps and quiets the sound of cloth rubbing on cloth. Every step, every twitch, is purposeful and intentional and not an iota of energy is wasted on pointless swagger.

Alex is impressed.

The man is average height, but built with a dancer's body, and his physique is obviously excellent underneath the bulky gray windbreaker and pair of silk black slacks. His short hair is pale blonde, but with hints of red in the light, and his face is pale and angular, and his eyes are two chips of colorless ice.

They lock onto Alex's, and there is a flicker of emotion in them that Alex is frustrated to find he can't read. The stranger inclines his head, which pleases Alex, because it is a very adult-way to greet someone. Alex nods jerkily in return. The man sits next to Miss Jenny behind the big mahogany desk, and the lady opens Alex's file, and another vanilla file that he hadn't noticed before, which must hold the stranger's information. She begins to talk, to begin the first meeting which may kickstart the long and arduous process of adoption, but Alex is only paying half attention to her.

The stranger feels familiar.

They gaze at each other across the desk as Miss Jenny blathers on, communicating silently.

_Are you trying to adopt me?_

_Maybe. Do you want to be adopted?_

_Maybe._

The stranger, Alex notes, radiates an aura of quiet authority and intelligence, and Alex realizes that any sane human child would probably cower in their seats underneath the pressure of the man's presence.

He doesn't. He sits up straighter and musters a weak smile for the first time in months.

Miss Jenny introduces the man with the dancer's body and icy eyes as Nikolai Angeloff.

**.**

**.**

**AN: If Alex's reaction seems a little stiff, which it most definitely should, it's on purpose. I was kind of frustrated when reading the books because Alex seems to never be bothered by anyone's deaths, not even Ian's, until _SPOILER_ Jack gets murdered. But if that's that way he's written, then that's the way I'll write him. **

**If you can't guess who Nikolai is then I have lost all hope in humanity. **

**This is currently a sort of hopeful oneshot. If I get positive feedback, I'll continue it. Maybe. Review and we'll find out. **

**Merry early Christmas everyone! Please accept this gift of angst from me with love. :3**

**Has anyone read Russian Roulette? I want it so bad!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I apologize for the wait. I recently purchased a new, kick-butt laptop, but it doesn't have Microsoft Word, so I've resorted to Google Docs, and editing/uploading anything written there to here is an absolute nightmare. **

**Thank you for such eager and wonderful reception. I enjoyed reading all of your reviews, and yes, in case you had the smallest inkling of doubt, Nikolai is Yassen. **

**That reminds me. Guess who read Russian Roulette? It was absolutely wonderful, and I'd highly recommend it to anyone writing a story that involves Yassen as it reveals much about his character. **

**Look at me, sounding so formal. Thanks once more for the lovey encouragement, and reviews are still very much appreciated. I caught the flu (freakin' AGAIN in like three weeks) so I'm really bored stiff right now. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Of course, an adoption is not a simple transaction, like purchasing a cheeseburger at a fast food restaurant during the lunch rush. Those bargains are emotionless, practical, normal, and short-lasting. They leave no impressions behind, and usually do not alter one's life in dramatic ways.

An adoption, however, is something commonly founded in the warmth and emotions of one's heart. A physical manifestation of _compassion_, not pity. Saving a life, and saving your own in the process.

As such, an adoption is treated very seriously. Alex's was no exception.

Miss Jenny organizes a schedule for supervised visits over the course of the next few months. Even if he does not particularly like her, Alex has to admit that she is an excellent caseworker- in that she could devise a schedule/meeting plan effortlessly in minutes, and her blinding white smile was so startling that you would find yourself agreeing to it without any in-depth thought on the matter.

As she talks, uncapping a thick black marker and scrawling notes and times in the dates of her desk-spread laminated calendar, Alex stares, as inconspicuously as he was able, at the man to his right. It hurts if he strains his eyes too much, but the pain is easily dismissable.

Nikolai is a cold pillar of black marble, Alex decides. Entirely imposing, intimidating, dripping power and respect. Icy, distanced, removed. Impassive. Unmoveable. His eyes are glimmering chips of translucent ice, his skin white marble, his lips a flat, disciplined line.

Alex entertains himself for a good six minutes by stringing together as many fitting adjectives as he could.

At some point, Alex notices a minute turn of the man's head and catches a glimpse of the man's pale eyes, digging into his own like a gardener's spade into damp earth. Miss Jenny has turned to tuck something away in one of her desk drawers, dark hairs slipping free from her loose ponytail and prettily framing her face. She still doesn't stop talking, even as her voice becomes trapped and slightly muffled by the constricted desk space.

Nikolai seizes the un-surveillanced moment, tilting his head in order to catch a glimpse of Alex, who is not able to drag his curious gaze away quickly enough.

Nikolai's left blond eyebrow leaps momentarily, questioning, a bolt of amusement flitting in the ice-clear depths- Alex sees the emotion hinted in the miniscule movement of the lips, the slight crinkle around the corner of the eyes. He's been caught staring.

The look seems to say, _'Take a picture. It will last longer.'_

Alex isn't perturbed._(He is most definitely not blushing in embarrassment… even if Ian would have been ashamed.)_ So what if he'd been caught? It's not like he'll be punished for it. This man isn't his father, or even Ia- or even a part of his family. Yet. Maybe. Alex is intrigued about the man, but being adopted by him? That's a rather large leap of faith, isn't it? Suddenly Alex would find himself under the jurisdiction of a grown-up individual, having to account for his presence and business, having to report about school, forced to interact with another (competent, at the very least) human being every day.

`The realizations of his very possible restricted freedom impact his gut; Alex struggles to shovel the turmoil behind his visage, as hardened as it was.

To keep up the guise of confidence _("-Alex, never let anyone know what you're feeling-") _ he gives a small smirk in return. It isn't petulant or challenging, just a simple conveyance that Alex hadn't meant to be caught and yet he had been, and that was okay. And yet it still seems strange on the child's face, like an ill-fitting mask. No kid's expression should be so cynical with such deep-rooted bitterness and awareness born out of tragedy.

Alex looks down at his fingers, folded neatly and resting against his stomach. He is, he would admit, slightly confused, and mostly curious. Adults never seem to notice small things, too busy being occupied with themselves and their schedules. A normal man, he concludes, would have been leaning forward on the edge of his seat, intent on the adoption process, maybe sneaking Alex some rogue-ish, comforting grins, perhaps even flirting with Miss Jenny if he was single. Nikolai does none of those. In fact, he almost seems detached from the whole thing.

If Alex didn't know any better, he would think Nikolai had been bored.

Well, that's fine with him. He doesn't really care for these dumb meetings anyway.

"So, how does that sound? Any problems?" Miss Jenny asks over the tops of her interlocked fingers, chin settled comfortably on her hands.

"Everything sounds agreeable," Nikolai says, and Alex looks over at him, unable to conceal his shock. The young man's entire demeanor had transformed in the precious few seconds that Alex had spent lost in his thoughts. Nikolai's tight, rigid posture had slackened to a relaxed degree; the ice in the eyes seemed to have melted, and the flat, consecutive line of a mouth had crooked into any easygoing smile.

His voice which had initially recaptured Alex's attention, formerly straight and with no nuances, had loosened, gaining inflection and, well, _life_.

He's like that toy in the animated movie that Alex had once seen. Pinocchio, a puppet brought to life.

And yet… and yet all of the changes are so individually diminutive , so gradual that you would not have noticed unless you had been paying specific attention to his character for the entire interview.

(Which, of course, Alex had been doing.)

It was entirely engrossing and fascinating and baffling.

Miss Jenny blinks. Alex critically examines her face. Her subconscious had picked up, or at least, somewhat noticed, the change, but she lacked the analytical skills to pinpoint the exact transformation. She gives Nikolai a hesitant smile _(glossed lips pulled wide; white, straight teeth on full display, an interested keen in her dilated pupils- romantically attracted?) _ and stands up, nudging back her computer chair. Nikolai climbs to his feet at the same time as her, and both reach across the desk to shake hands.

For some reason, Alex feels amused when a pink tint appears on Miss Jenny's cheekbones. She holds onto his strong, though slender, hand for maybe a split second too long before sliding them Nikolai pivots to face Alex, and, assuming a very mock-official expression, politely extends a hand. He does not kneel and coo irritatingly, as some potential foster parents are wont to do, and Alex delicately takes the proffered appendage with all the dignified appreciation a nine-year-old can muster. There's a small white scar on one of Nikolai's knuckles, and Alex wonders briefly how he got it.

"Until next time, Alex," Nikolai says, by way of goodbye, and, putting on his jacket, is escorted to the entrance of the orphanage.

* * *

One month later finds Alex sitting at a round shaded table outside of a popular cafe, nursing a small chocolate milkshake with quiet relish. It isn't often that he gets luxuries such as these. Maybe it's the unblemished part of him, the part that still thinks and acts like a nine-year-old, but he truthfully considers the treats as one of the pluses of these pointless 'get-to-know-you' meetings.

Nikolai lounges a meter to Alex's right, hand lazily wrapped around a glass of water with a slice of lemon.

Miss Jenny sits beside Alex on his left, manilla folder for notes spread out on the thick plastic surface of the table, blue-ink fountain pen held loosely in the crook of her thumb and forefinger. She painted her nails, Alex notices lazily, swinging his legs back and forth underneath the curved bench. Not only that, but she even put on lipstick, and wore a nicer outfit than usual- fresh white blouse,with the two top buttons undone, a fitted formal business jacket, black pencil skirt, and shoes with a bit of heel and black straps.

Alex picks up his cold glass, little fingers smudging away the beading drops of condensation, smiling in satisfaction as he sucks more of the sugary concoction down. A devious little plan hatches in the shifty corners of his mind.

"Jenny has a _cru-uush_," he sings out, fluttering his eyelashes adorably at his caseworker, interrupting her mid-sentence as he sets the milkshake down with a small tap. She looks at him, startled, then blushes so red that all the blood might have drained from the rest of her body.

"N-now- Alex, what have I told you about using formal addresses when speaking to your elders? It's more polite, yeah?" Is all she can manage to say, even after a short pause, but Alex watches her sneak peeks under her mascaraed eyelashes towards Nikolai, as if to wait for any indication of approval or disgust towards Alex's childish accusation. Nikolai smiles as if abashed, ducking his head and running a hand through his blonde hair.

"Sorry," Alex apologizes, as he hasn't just mortified his social worker, and sips his milkshake sedately. "But I only thought that you liked him- like,_ like-liked _him" He wrinkles his nose "cuz you never wear such nice clothes when you're working, s'all."

Miss Jenny sputters. Nikolai coughs. Behind his curious little kid face, Alex grins like the devil.

The next two minutes of the supervised outing unravel with disturbing speed. The blood refuses to leave Miss Jenny's cheeks, and after a whole episode of frantic stuttering, she swipes a thumb across the backs of her eyelids, as if to smooth away her discomfiture, and disentangles herself from the bench.

"You know what? I-I think you can be trusted," to Nikolai, "and the two of you are getting along rather fabulously. I'll just, uh, I'll just wait for you back at the orphanage. Call me if anything pops up. You do have my number, after all. Not that you'd use it. To call me, I mean. Outside of work. Oh my gosh. Sorry. Bye, bye. I'll leave now." She forces herself to laugh, and half-jogs, half-walks back to her car.

'_Suspected outcome achieved,'_ Alex thinks to himself, and waves cheerily to Miss Jenny as her car coughs its way to life and pulls out of the cafe parking lot, nearly clipping the curb on the sharp left turn.

Nikolai swirls the glass in his hands, staring as the clinking ice cubes cast shifting parallelograms of light on the table surface. "Alex," he says quietly, "that was quite impressive, and much appreciated."

Alex looks at him in mock naivety, regarding him through childishly widened eyes and pouting lips. "What do you mean?" He asks innocently. The sun backlights his figure, shining through the ends of his mussed up blonde hair, crowning him in a golden halo. He is, for all appearances, a cherubic little angel.

Nikolai wordlessly finishes the rest of his water and traps some crisp notes underneath the glass. "We've got loads of time," he says after glancing at his watch, "and I've got a few things in mind. Come on."

Alex hurriedly slurps down the last precious drops of his cold malt shake before jogging after the receding figure.

* * *

When Alex falls onto his springy bed late that night, his hair is sweaty and his cheeks are still flushed from activity. A sort of bright sparkle vibrates in his chocolate-brown irises, lending him a refreshing vitality that he has not possessed in years, like an oak in the throes of spring awakening from its winter hibernation.

He, quite honestly, has not had so much fun in years. Nikolai had taken him to the theaters, then bought him a new soccer ball, and even lectured him on basic French verb conjugation, which Alex had requested after examining a pamphlet printed on one side in the particular language. He taught Alex a bit about driving signals, and how to flag a cabbie, and he showed Alex how to make a primitive sundial using just a straw and bits of the paper wrapper.

Throughout the entire day, Nikolai had made casual inquires about him- what he liked, what he disliked, his favorite color, his preferred type of music, and his extracurriculars. Alex had been distant at first, but after an prolonged amount of time spent in the elder's presence (and the aforementioned purchase of the soccer ball certainly helping matters), he found himself gradually opening up. It was somehow refreshing, in a way. Alex thought he was content with lingering in the shadows, but having someone specifically ask about him, talk _to _him… it was rejuvenating.

He told about his love for the outdoors, how he liked math and science, and was mostly fluent in Spanish, and loved soccer, and always got excellent grades. He even, albeit somewhat shyly, revealed his love for martial arts, and how he (with a wistful look in his eye) missed his karate lessons and his sensei.

"Do you like martial arts, then?" Nikolai had inquired, gracefully nudging the new ball towards Alex, guiding it with the inside of his foot. Alex trapped it under his heel like his coach had showed him and passed it back.

"Yeah. I liked the different types of kicks the best," he grinned, "and it was always fun trouncing an older student." His face fell, and he almost missed the ball when Nikolai returned it to him. "But I haven't had any lessons in a while. The orphanage wouldn't pay for them, and I didn't have any insurance which would allow it to continue."

A nine-year-old talking about insurance would most certainly seem odd, but Alex pulled it off with ease, managing to make it seem like the most normal thing in the world.

"That's a shame," Nikolai decided, and preceded to demonstrate a nifty little sidestep maneuver on the soccer ball that Alex could use to juke out an opponent.

Alex rolls over on his bed, cheek mushed into his firm pillow as he stares at the dim outline of the soccer ball resting in the shadows of his room. A small smile tugs persistently at his mouth; he muffles a giggle into the sheets. He hasn't felt like this since- since Ian and Jack. Like he was an actual kid again.

He closes his eyes, nuzzles his head into the pillow and relaxing his body in preparation for sleep. He'll tell Miss Jenny about the outcome of the meeting tomorrow morning.

* * *

**Five months later**

**.**

"Goodbye Alex. You're such a sweet little boy, I know you'll do well." Miss Jenny delicately dashes at her moist eyes with a crumpled napkin as she clutches Alex to her chest. His face is pressed into the lapels of her collared blouse; he makes a face at her overbearing floral perfume.

"Thanks Miss Jenny," he offers lamely, and gives an experimental tug backwards, testing the strength of her hold. Her manicured nails press tightly through the cloth of his long-sleeved shirt, and Alex gives a weary mental sigh before gingerly linking his arms around her neck and squeezing lightly. Miss Jenny rocks him from side to side, her breath quick and erratic in mourning, and squeezes him one last time like a python around a caught mouse.

"Are you ready, Alex?" Nikolai's voice sounds from somewhere above him, and Alex directs him a blind thumb's up; a somewhat sarcastic cry for help. He thinks he hears an amused huff before hands pry him free of the clinging woman.

Alex sucks in a few deep, unscented breaths of fresh air, smoothing down his rumpled shirt. Miss Jenny smiles tearfully.

"Sorry love, I just get so emotionally attached sometimes… and I've wanted you to be happy for so long…"

_Ian would call this pathetic. Never get so involved in a relationship like that. _

Still, the show must go on, so Alex smiles angelically, adding a sort of apologetic look to the courageous grin. "I'll miss you too, Miss Jenny."

She almost bursts into tears again and swoops upon him once more, but Nikolai neatly intervenes, stepping in front of Alex before she can sink her claws into him once more. Alex sighs in relief. Nikolai lays a guiding hand on his shoulder and sends Miss Jenny an empty smile.

"If you don't mind, Jennifer, we must be going now. Traffic is horrible at this hour."

_(Screeching tires, popping glass shards, massive crack of metal slamming against metal-)_

Alex blanches, curls his fingernails into his fleshy palm to distill the pain. He hasn't thought about the supposed car crash that killed Ian and Jack in a while now, and the realization both shames and grieves him. Is this what adults call 'moving on?' It's not anything like healing. It's rather just a wound dulled with time, and Alex almost feels guilty about it.

"Bye," he calls out listlessly as he and Nikolai depart. Miss Jenny distantly blows her nose in response. As the doors swing shut, Nikolai's hand drops quickly from his shoulder, and Alex turns on his heel, tipping his head back in order to stare at the entirety of the gray stone building looming before him. It's a gorgous day. The air is pleasantly warm in the last fading notes of summer, and the sun is shining, golden rays bouncing off the heaps of fluffed cumulonimbus clouds that dot the blue expanse. It's as if God himself is celebrating Alex's final, long-awaited escape from the orphanage.

No more wailing children keeping him up at night, no more Miss Jenny, no more small bedrooms and limited physical activity availabilities. He's free.

He laughs and looks over his shoulder at Nikolai, grinning. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

Nikolai tilts his head back, squinting up at the sun, as if just noticing the favorable weather. "I suppose you're right, Alex."

Sometimes Nikolai switches between personalities. Usually he's the man with the ice in his eyes. Sometimes, especially around other adults, he's the affable, polite young adult. And he's never lost a bit of his interest in Alex's eyes, no matter what guise he puts on like selecting a tie every day.

Nikolai drives a dark blue Cadillac XTS Luxury Sedan. Alex brushes his fingers over the smooth paint-job, eyes tracing the framework. No nicks, scratches, or even bird poop stains. Either Nikolai is a very excellent driver and takes good care of his cars, or it's brand new.

"I think you're old enough not to have a car seat, but if you would like, I can pick one up sometime soon," Nikolai adds as he opens the side door for Alex, ushering him into the leather seat behind the driver's spot.

"That's okay," Alex dismisses, clicking the belt home. "I don't need one." All he needs is a seatbelt. Which apparently both Ian and Jack weren't wearing. Which is total baloney, because Ian was the careful-est person Alex ever knew.

Nikolai starts up the car. It quietly purrs as it awakens. Alex rests his elbow on the window bank and feels it hum slightly under his fingertips.

"How long does it take to get to your house?" Alex questions thoughtlessly, propping his chin on his folded arms so that he can look out the lightly tinted window.

"Two hours and twenty-five minutes," Nikolai replies immediately, easing the car out of the orphanage lot. Alex sticks his tongue out at the building, heart pounding in excitement at the thought of never returning to it.

Two hours and twenty-five minutes. That's a long time, an even longer one when you have to consider that Nikolai drove the distance once every week for the past couple months. That's a lot of gas money. And driving all that way, just to see Alex?

Well, he can't help but be a little flattered.

"You don't need a GPS?" He asks curiously. That's a long distance and a lot of twists and turns ad street names to memorize.

"I'd say I have a pretty good memory," Nikolai explains, smoothly rolling the wheel and guiding the car into a fluid right turn. "It's a part of my job."

They lapse into silence. Alex doesn't mind it. He wouldn't know what to say anyway. For a while, the only sounds are the melodic purr of the car's engine beneath them and the muffled sounds of city life pressing on the closed windows. Alex amuses himself by imagining a little ninja running over the tops of the passing streetlights, trash cans, and parked cars, performing flips and acrobatic tumbles**.***

"There are things we should probably discuss on the way," Nikolai begins the new conversation some ten minutes later. He almost sounds a bit awkward. Alex twists his body to see around the headrest in order to glimpse Nikolai sitting rigidly in the driver's seat, hands locked on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. At least he's not an easily-distracted driver.

"You don't have to call me father. You don't have to call my house your home. You don't even have to refer to me as your family. Just… whatever makes you feel comfortable. If it makes you feel more at ease, you could just think of me as an older brother. All right?"

Alex wrinkles his nose at the thought of referring to Nikolai as his father. The man is much too young, only in his early-to-mid twenties. That would certainly be an awkward situation to explain to anyone, what with Alex being nine, almost ten, after all.

"Okay," he agrees. "And you don't have to call me son or something weird like that, just so we're even."

Alex sees Nikolai smirk briefly in the rearview mirror before continuing.

"Another thing. My work requires that I travel around often. As in around the globe. Would you be all right with that?"

Well, that's certainly new… and certainly a bit late. Alex frowns for one millisecond, casting his thoughts back. There had never been anything about frequent travel in Nikolai's folder, had there? In fact, Alex can't even remember what job the man held.

But Alex had always liked travelling around, and Ian had taken him on a couple of vacations around the world, so at least he already had his passport. And on the trips that Ian couldn't take him along, he'd hired Jack, hadn't he? Alex had been fine.

"That's okay with me."

Being adopted might not be so terrible after all.

**.**

**.**

A hand prods his shoulder. "Alex, wake up. We're here," a voice whispers in his ear, and Alex immediately starts awake, heart pounding and eyes shooting open. For one horrible moment, he has no recollection of his whereabouts, and he lashes out in a type of karate hit known as the snapping punch. Imagine a jackhammer striking once. Alex's sensei had taught it to him years ago.

A large hand encases the fist, fingers caging his balled hand, halting the blow with ease. Alex's eyes adjust, and he can make out, in the dim fiery colors of twilight fringing the horizon, Nikolai's face half a meter from his own. A surprised and vaguely interested expression raising his eyebrows.

"Good punch," he says approvingly.

Alex blinks, because that is a very Ian-like thing to say. Before his sleep-fuzzied brain can sort through what just happened, Nikolai is unbuckling him and helping him down from the stoop of the car. His feet land solidly on paved asphalt, and a grass border begins three meters away; he's standing on a long, gently curving driveway that leads to a comfortably large house. Alex looks around wildly. The car is silent, parked in front of the terraced steps leading to the front door. In his doze, he hadn't noticed their arrival.

The air is also colder. The sun sets with surprising speed, an orb of fire disappearing beneath blazing waves of fiery yellow and reds and pinks outcropped by a dark blue.

The house is dark. None of the windows are lit, except for the porch light. Nikolai leads him to the covered veranda. The architecture is distinctly different from the cramped, gray buildings that Alex is accustomed to. A simple table and chair provide a comfortable outdoor reading nook on the porch. The veranda is constructed of solid wooden slats, sealed to provide rotting from rain or insects.

Nikolai enters some kind of code into a high-tech security system keypad next to the door. A tiny inset LED bulb briefly flashes green in acceptance, the door unlocks and Nikolai swings open the handsome varnished wooden door a moment later.

The rush of air that hits Alex's face upon entry smells like cleaning material and new upholstery. The place is recently bought. Nikolai mustn't have been kidding when he said he travels often.

"Bedrooms are upstairs," Nikolai says, gesturing to a wide, rather magnificent staircase in front of them. "Feel free to choose any room you like. Bathroom is on the right."

Alex sheds his shoes and lines them up neatly alongside Nikolai's much larger boots. "What about you?"

Nikolai hooks his light coat up on the rack, giving Alex a wry smile. "I've got some work to finish, and it's rather late. Get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning." He still hasn't moved from the door. Alex nods, heartbeat fluttering. The simple freedom of choosing his own bedroom to claim is intoxicating. He races agily up the stairs after a second's hesitation, socked feet slippery on the steps but quick and light. Nikolai watches him until he disappears from sight.

* * *

***: Do you even know how many car ride hours I spent doing this with my siblings?!**

**Also: YASSEN IS SO FREAKING HARD TO WRITE. ;_; I apologize if he is horribly OOC. I just really enjoyed the idea of an awkward car-ride scene where Yassen kind of outlines the adoption expectations. **

**Miss Jenny is a rather Mary-Sue-ish character I created on the spot last chapter. Anyone a fan of Sherlock? She's like Molly Hooper to me. I don't think she'll be popping up again, but I privately thought it would be hilarious for her to develop a crush on Yassen. Tehee. :3**

**And I've invested so much research into this story! Adoption processes, car types, even karate punches! You all better be thankful!**

**Until next time, goodbye! Your awesome reviews really encouraged me to continue this story. :)**


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